Banana Snipers & Tiny Raves
Excerpt from the journal of a madwoman, circa 2016.
I’m just a girl from the country, raised among feral cats, ride-able donkeys, and the occasional cur dog. I’m not above mucking around in the what-have-you. I’ve shot a gun a few times. I can drive a standard if need be. I’ve pulled a trailer a time or two. I’ve backed a boat down a ramp on more than a few occasions. I killed a snake with a garden hoe once. I murdered a hawk-attacked chicken where the ants had already taken over, just out of humanity’s sake, in front of my 5 year old daughter, WITH A SHOVEL. I birthed babies at home. I survived breast cancer! My point in telling you this? You’ll surely see that I am a tough girl. I don’t succumb to silliness, and I don’t go down easily. If I’m ever found unconscious or worse, check under my nails. I guarantee you there will be forensic evidence. It’s just that I’m in a dilemma I’ve only been in a time or two. Lawd have mercy, there’s a mouse in this house.
Book One - What in Heaven’s Name is Going On?
I’m an early riser, mostly due to the fact that I stink as a sleeper. My Mom is also a stinky sleeper. She used to get up at 6 am. Now she’s up at 3:30 am. I’m deep breathing just thinking about what the future holds for me. But anywho, about that mouse? I stumble into the kitchen around 6:15 with no alarm. Now, there’s a ritual to be observed and I am all about the rituals in life. I get up. The poodle gets up. I put my pj pants on. We both stretch before walking together to the bathroom (for me) and then to the backyard (for him). We let the other, less fortunate dogs out of their super comfy kennel lined with a down alternative comforter. They go outside, I gather their food bowls. I mix extraordinarily expensive hard dog food with extraordinarily expensive soft dog food and I basically spoon feed them all. The poodle and I return inside. I grab creamer. I grab coffee. I blindly punch buttons on the Keurig. Then, I see it.
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